The Nightingale upon the Rose's breast
Warbling her tale of life-long sorrow lies,
Till in love's trancÈd ecstasy her eyes
Close and her throbbing heart is set at rest;
For, to the yielding flow'r her bosom prest,
Death steals upon her in the sweet disguise
Of crownÈd love and brings what life denies,—
mingling of the souls,—Love's eager quest!

Thus let my heart against thy heart repose,
Sigh forth its life in one delicious sigh,
Then drink new life from out thy balmy breath;
Thus in love's languor let our eyelids close,
And let our blended souls enchanted lie,
And dream of joy beyond the gates of death.